


I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory

by Carlet



Series: Philinda Forever and Always [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Academy Era, Angst, Canon Divergent, Character Death, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt, Empath!May, F/M, Fitzsimmons (mentioned) - Freeform, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, I'm so sorry, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Philinda-Freeform, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, get ready to cry buckets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28039404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carlet/pseuds/Carlet
Summary: Each time Melinda or Phil dies, the other doesn't take it very well.
Relationships: Phil Coulson/Melinda May
Series: Philinda Forever and Always [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1933060
Comments: 15
Kudos: 41





	I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by Hamilton.
> 
> One of the sections references a scene from [one of my other Philinda fics](), but reading it beforehand isn't required :)

**one**.

Her heart stops, but only for a moment.

It’s enough to scare the crap out of him.

In hindsight, it had all been his fault, something she hasn’t stopped reminding him of and probably never would.

(He’ll take it, though, if it means he gets to continue working with her as his field partner. They’ve only been on three missions together, and despite how badly he’d dropped the ball in Sausalito, she hasn’t requested a transfer yet. He hopes she never will.)

The lab isn’t supposed to be occupied. While the gala (because cliches remain true for a reason) went on upstairs, they’d snuck down to the sub-level basement to procure an old piece of SHIELD tech originally stolen from a rogue ex-SHIELD scientist back in the 70s, an innocuous looking spherical device with the power to send electromagnetic pulses strong enough to permanently disable the power structures of every city in a five hundred mile radius.

He hadn’t seen the grenade thrown straight at his back, having been a little too busy trying to finish disabling the dual combination lock and fingerprint scanner required to open the glass case surrounding the device while Melinda took care of knocking out the guards and scientists. A small wiggle of the knob to the left, the glass slid open, a large bang sounded in the air, and he’d found himself suddenly launched to the side.

The world rains down on him in blurry dots, and it takes a moment for him to register his surroundings. He’s landed nearly twenty feet away from where he’d previously been. The air is thick and hazy with smoke, and he slowly sits up. It’s quiet, _too_ quiet compared to the sounds of the ensuring fight only seconds ago, and around him he sees nothing but prone bodies on the ground. He expects to see Melinda standing triumphantly over him, but one look to the side and he catches a glimpse of familiar purple, the same shade as the dress she hasn’t stopped complaining about all night.

In a flash he’s up, checking for breathing sounds and feeling the bump on her head, brushing small bits of broken glass off her exposed skin, ripping off his jacket to staunch the blood slowly trickling down her hairline, and realizing that she’s taken the hit for him, that she’d lunged at the grenade he realizes someone must have thrown before it could’ve made contact with him.

He fiddles in his pocket for his phone and calls for backup, all the while adjusting her so that her head lies in his lap. Something hard nudges against him as he repositions her, and he reaches down to find the electromagnetic device underneath her, hidden in the folds of her dress, and cold dread slides down his spine.

Their SOs had been very clear to not directly touch the device, and suddenly he realizes where all the broken glass on her had come from.

He clasps his hands over her chest and start to pump, counting as their instructors had once taught. His head pounds with a relentless drumbeat, and his own pulse overtakes him, and he can’t distinguish whether that’s _his_ heartbeat he feels or the heartbeat he’s desperately trying to coax back into her.

Phil pinches her nose and touches his lips to hers. He repeats the motion again, and resumes pumping her chest.

He briefly considers how their SOs will punish him for this, whether he’d be blacklisted as the rookie who’d inadvertently killed their field partner, but it turns out he doesn’t need to.

Her eyes fly open, and she coughs once, twice, three times, and he finally allows himself to breathe. Uncharacteristically, she makes no attempt to move or sit up and push him off, instead glaring weakly up at him, and he knows she must have hit the glass case hard enough to cause more than just a nasty concussion.

“We did it.” It takes her three times as long to speak, and her breathing is ragged, but she seems unconcerned.

“I’m so sorry.” He starts. “I should’ve seen-“ He’s cut off by her eye roll, epic even in her current state. “You’ll be fine. Backup’s on its way.”

“I know.”

“Your _heart_ stopped. Technically you were dead.”

“I know.”

He blinks down at her. She’s visibly sweating, shivering, and her chest struggles to rise and fall with each breath. Blood trickles down her forehead, and yet she seems almost relaxed. “How can you be so…”

“Got lucky.” She quips. “You were here.”

“Only because you got there first.”

“So. Next time it’s your turn.”

If it had been him, he would’ve been panicking. He’s not good with pain and probably never will be. In fact he’s on the verge of a full on breakdown now. More guards could walk in at any moment, and she’s nearly defenseless, and he’s useless without her.

He reminds himself that she’s alive, she’s safe, and he _really_ hopes he’ll get to return the favor someday.

* * *

**two**.

He doesn’t have much time left.

Phil _never_ imagined he’d go out this way, and certainly not this early. His bucket list is still miles long. But all things considered, being stabbed in the chest by an alien god after meeting his heroes and working alongside the Avengers? At least they’d tell epic stories about him.

(He almost wishes he could attend his own funeral.)

He only has one regret.

He’d never imagined he’d be the first to go. Leaving her behind like this breaks his heart and hurts more than the fatal wound Loki had inflicted. She has so little left, working herself to the ground in that horrible cubicle, miles away from everyone who cares about her, drowning in the self-loathing that’s not her fault, that she’s carried for so long it’s slowly eating her alive, and the thought of her resigned to the fate she’d never asked for is almost unbearable.

_“Maybe I’m tired of dating civilians.”_

_“Well, maybe if it doesn’t work out with this one, you and I can talk about that…over a drink.”_

Images of a teasing smirk, of long black hair, of the bra he’d struggled to undo flash before his eyes. Are they hallucinations brought on by blood loss? Or the final thoughts of a dying man?

_“Chances are high. This guy is really not my type.”_

His chest rise and falls as he attempts to draw the breaths he knows are numbered. He closes his eyes for the last time, and he sees her in all her glory, and she’s _smiling_ at him like she used to, and suddenly he’s not afraid.

_“Well, let me know if it goes horribly. Here’s hoping.”_

He never did get a chance to tell her how he feels, and now he never will.

* * *

She stops breathing, and the phone slips out of her hand. Maria continues to speak, but she doesn’t comprehend, can’t hear anything except for her own pounding heartbeat in her ears.

Melinda had willingly severed all ties with any and everyone after…she still can’t bear to say the word aloud, let alone think it. One by one the pillars of her life had dissolved before her, first her promising career, her dreams of cradling children in her arms, and the husband she’d loved so much. One by one, except for the last remaining component, someone who stubbornly and steadfastly stayed by her side no matter how hard she’d tried to push him away.

With him, she could almost pretend she’s normal.

With him, she could forget, if only for a moment.

With him, her mind had quieted just long enough for her stop seeing the girl, to stop feeling the dusty desert heat on her skin, to stop hearing the child’s haunting last words over and over again.

(It’s not _fair._ She’d always expected she’d go first, that there would actually be someone sorry to see her go when she inevitably met her end. She’d come to expect him to always be there, but she should have known better, and she should’ve known even _he_ would be taken away from her, because since when had life ever been _fair_ to her, and maybe losing him is what she deserves after everything she’d done in that horrible building on that horrible day after she’d been forced to make that horrible choice she’ll never come back from?)

A second later, an anguished wail fills the air.

She doesn’t even realize it’s her.

* * *

**three.**

Melinda doesn’t know where she is. She doesn’t know what she’s seeing, who she’s with, or what’s happened to her.

But she _does_ know that she’s dying.

Ghostly figures dance before her eyes, their features distorted, and she struggles, she screams, and she fights desperately for her life against the creatures she knows are after her and everyone she loves. This can’t be the end, not like this. Not when she has to stop those who have already infiltrated the base, not when Fitzsimmons and Phil are still there, and not when Daisy’s out somewhere, all of them with no idea of the danger they’re all in, the danger she has to protect them from.

And suddenly the demons’ faces dissolve and everything’s gone. She floats in an empty black void. She can’t feel her body anymore and it’s startlingly quiet, as if she’s underwater, but she knows better than that.

She’d never expected death to be this peaceful.

But as fast as that thought appears, it’s gone, and she remembers who she is and what she’s been fighting for her whole life, and more importantly _who_ , and she wants out, out of this deceivingly comfortable black void. Except she _can’t_ , because she’s dead, and there’s no way back from dead, not like with Phil, and she’d cry out if she were able.

_Phil._

Almost as if she’s conjured him simply by thinking his name, he appears.

He smiles dopily, and she swears her heart doesn’t lurch at the sight. _“Just hang on. Simmons is working on a way to bring you back.”_ He reaches a hand out toward her. _“Stay with me, okay?”_

She wants to reach out and touch him. But the dark is so comfortable and inviting, and she can feel herself slipping away again, back into the black.

_“…that’s an order!”_ a distant voice shouts. It’s accented and vaguely familiar.

Phil turned his head towards the sound. _“Hear that? It’s Simmons. she’s almost there. We can’t let her down now. We both know what happens if you don’t listen to Dr. Simmons. So hang on, Melinda. ”_

Her name is like a beacon, and it pulses through her, strengthening her, and the dark isn’t quite so dark for a moment.

_“That’s right.”_ He says encouragingly, his eyes shining. What a dork. “ _You can do it. I believe in you. We need you._ I _need you. Come back to me.”_

_I will,_ she wants to say. _I’m trying._

_“Come back to me.”_

_Always_ , she promises. _Always._

* * *

He paces.

He makes his way down the hallway, abruptly turns around, and then makes his way down again, and again, and again. He focuses on his breaths, feels the weight of the ground beneath his feet, and keeps going. Anything to keep his mind occupied, otherwise the thoughts will come and they won’t stop, because she’s in danger and she’s alone, _so_ alone, and how could Mace keep him away from her and so callously send him out on a mission like that when the only person who matters, the one person who has _always_ mattered above all else to him is in danger?

Phil knows Jemma is the best of the best, that Melinda’s in safe hands with her, that he can trust the young scientist. But that doesn’t change the fact that he needs to be there. He can’t let her go through this on her own. He still remembers how it felt to die alone, and he can’t bear the thought of her facing the same fate. What if he loses her while he’s miles away? What if she never comes back?

She’s never not been there; even in the six weeks she’d been away in Hawaii and at her father’s, despite how tenuous they’d left things before her vacation, he’d known she’d return to SHIELD and to him. Even after he’d pushed her away, spitting out all of those ugly words, accusing her of being Hydra and betrayal despite how hard she’d worked to protect him (as always), she’d come back, she’d _always_ come back.

What if he has to go through the rest of his life without her?

* * *

Hours later, his phone buzzes with an incoming call, and his knees buckle with relief as he listens to Jemma, although he doesn’t really hear anything after she tells him that Melinda’s fine.

Jemma passes the phone over, and Melinda’s voice, despite how it’s laced with annoyance fills not only ears, but his heart. His world is flooded with color once more, and he smiles.

* * *

**four.**

He’d made his peace with it months ago, but in moments like these, he wishes his time isn’t nearly up.

Phil watches as Melinda sleeps in the chaise pulled closely against his so that their legs are tangled together. Her head, inches from his shoulder, is turned to face him, her hair’s tangled around his chest, and her face is serene for the first time in _years._ His thumb traces circles on the back of her hand, and he has to resist the urge to lean over and kiss her.

(He’d made that mistake just a few weeks back, kissing her as she’d slept. Her reflexes had kicked in so rapidly he’d found himself pinned to the bed, his arms twisted awkwardly above his head before he’d known what was happening. Upon realizing that they were not in fact in danger, she’d apologized profusely, and he could tell she’d felt bad.

They’d made good use of that position after that, but he still remembers to refrain from inadvertently waking her up.)

She stirs, a smile immediately spreading to her face as she takes him in, another one of those smiles that have come so easily since their arrival on the brilliant Tahiti beach. “Were you watching me sleep?”

In the past, he would’ve blushed, stammered, made any excuse to pretend that he wasn’t flustered by the presence of his brilliant field partner, best friend, other half. Instead, he simply presses a kiss to the side of her head. “How could I not?”

Melinda snuggles closer to him, and sighs contently. “You should get some rest too.”

And she’s right, of course, because the black lines on his chest are getting worse, and he can feel his body slowly failing, shutting down in small components with each passing day, losing a different ability that he’d taken for granted all his life. Looking back, he can still remember a time when it didn’t hurt to breathe, when he’d been able to easily walk around, and even just a week back when parasailing hadn’t been out of the question like it is now.

He keeps a brave face on and tells lame jokes that make her roll her eyes, and she attempts to pretend there’s nothing wrong, attempts to hide the panic in her eyes every time his body is wracked with coughs, because they both know there’s no use wasting the time they have left in mourning.

It’s a different sensation, dying slowly instead of all at once. He’s facing the unknown, yet acutely aware of what’s coming next, and it’s terrifying and soothing at the same time, because this time he’s made his choice, he’s placed the bookmark on his own life, and this is what he wants, and he’s _ready._

But looking down at her, sometimes he’s not so sure.

“Why did we wait so long?” He murmurs.

Melinda shrugs. “Life, SHIELD’s anti-fraternization rule, Hydra, take your pick?”

She doesn’t mention Andrew, and he’s glad. Andrew had never been competition, yet for years he’d known that the psychologist had offered Melinda something Phil could _never_ , a stable life and a white picket fence and babies and maybe even a dog, and for the first time in his life he’d felt inadequate, even as he’d known how irrational that had been. 

“Or,” she continues, smirking playfully. “Perhaps you were too nerdy for me back then.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, all your constant talk about Captain America and the Howling Commandos and all that other SHIELD trivia?” Melinda clucks her tongue. “ _Such_ a turn off.”

He pokes her in the ribs, prompting her to squeal in a very un-Melinda like manner. “I don’t seem to remember any complaining.”

“Mmm, no. Nope. I was just faking.”

“Come on. You _loved_ it.”

“Yeah.” Her expression softens, shifts from teasing to serious, and he knows she’s no longer referring to his nerdy obsessions. “I do.”

Phil presses his lips against hers in a chaste kiss. “I love you too,” he breathes.

A moment later they break apart, and she settles back against him as he tangles his fingers in her hair, brushing through slowly. He’s content, holding her in his arms, feeing her weight over his, and for a moment he can’t feel the pain in his chest that always lingers now. “If only we’d—“

“No.” She interrupts. Her expression is soft, focused on the horizon, at the line where the sea met the shore, but her tone is firm.“I wouldn’t change any of it.”

“We could’ve had this so much sooner.”

“We could’ve,” she agrees. “But I wouldn’t take back what we _did_ have.We’ve always known how we both felt, and whether it needed saying or not, it didn’t matter. You have been a part of my life for as long as I can remember, and I would _never_ trade that for anything.” 

“Even though we could’ve been together?”

“Yes.” She holds his gaze now, steady and sure. “We’re here now.”

She’s right, he knows, that what they had together had been special because it had been uniquely _them,_ no matter how much it hurts and how much he doesn’t want to leave her behind, and how much he wishes that it isn’t all over, that this isn’t his last chapter, despite how he’s come to terms with his fate, because what did one man matter when the world needed saving?

His mind circles back to the last thirty years, to their shared missions, their laughs, their tears, the team they’d helped shape, and he finds myself murmuring in assent.“We really did have a good run, didn’t we?”

“A hell of a time,” she agrees.

“I never stopped to tell you how grateful I am.” He says. “I don’t even know where I would be without you. You’ve stood by me through everything. You’ve always had my back, even when I didn’t deserve it. I’ve said it before, but I shouldn’t have lashed out at you when I found out the truth about TAHITI, or kept Project Theta a secret from you.”

“Phil, it’s—”

“No, I need to say this.” He insists. “You’ve always been there for me, and I wouldn’t have been half as good an agent or the person I am if it weren’t for you.”

“You did the same for me,” she reminds him gently.

“And yet I failed to see that she, the LMD, wasn’t you, that you were somewhere out there, hurt and alone, and I will never stop being sorry for that.”

“It wasn’t your fault. Being kidnapped’s just part of the job.”

“The fact that you can even say that just shows how amazing you are. How lucky was I to be able to call Melinda May my partner, best friend, _everything, for_ most of my life?”

He hadn’t wanted to cry, not today. He’d liked to think he’s out of tears, out of the ability to grieve any further, after months of putting on brave faces for his team and saving his quiet sobs for the privacy of the shower, but he swears he feels himself tearing up now, and he doesn’t want to, not in front of her, because although he’s the one dying, he can’t help but still put her first. “Melinda…”

“I know. It’s okay.” She smiles, and he sees her eyes shining, reflecting how he feels.

“I just-I don’t…I don’t want…”

“We’ll be fine,” She says, because as usual she knows what he’s trying to say before the thought can fully form in his mind.

“I just can’t believe that it’s all…”

“Over.” She finishes. “Yeah. How many times did we think it was the end, only to come back after?”

“Most days, I’ve made my peace with it. I’m going out on _my_ terms this time, and I’m here with you. But _because_ I’m here with you…I can’t help but want more. And how can I even say that, when most agents didn’t even have half of what we did? The fact that this is so hard just tells me how lucky we’ve been, how lucky _I’ve_ been to have had you by my side. That pain at the thought of leaving you behind? I know that’s love. That pain is love, and I don’t want to let it go, to let you go. I don’t want to go, not without you.”

She’s openly crying now, tears running down her face, and he reaches over to wipe them away with his thumbs, ignoring his own. “We had our time,” Her voice is shaky, yet more sure than he’s ever known. “And now it’s over, and that’s the way it is, and I hate it too, but that’s okay.”

* * *

Death comes for Phil Coulson on a Tuesday.

It’s a beautiful sunny day, perfectly warm with a slight breeze, and he’s lying on the chaise outside of their house, and there’s nothing around them save for miles of golden sand and brilliant blue sea.

Melinda is tangled in his arms, half on her own chaise and half on top of him. Her hand lies over his torso, hugging him as close to her as possible.

They’d stopped talking a few hours prior, instead content to listen to the crash of the waves against the shore.

His breaths are ragged, and he’s thankful he’s finally stopped coughing, although he knows that just means his body has simply lost the energy to even attempt to expel the poison inside.

He blinks rapidly, his eyelids growing heavier with each passing second. His vision wavers, and for a moment she disappears from view, and instead he sees Tripp, Lincoln, Andrew, fellow agents he’d lost when SHIELD fell, old friends he’d never thought he’d see again, and his parents.

“It’s okay.” She whispers. She’s been repeating the same words for a few days now.

He doesn’t want to give in, not when these are his last moments with her for a very long time, even though he’s slipping away, he knows, slipping away into a dark, comforting and not entirely unwelcome space, like sliding into bed after a long mission.

“It’s time to rest now, Phil.” She tightens her grip around him and presses a kiss to his cheek. “I love you.”

He can’t hold on, not any longer, not when his fellow fallen agents are more clear to him now than the beach around them, and her touch is the only thing anchoring him to the world, although that’s fading, and her skin on his feels more like a faded memory with every passing second. Still, he musters enough strength, a final push, to turn his head to her.

“This...isn’t...goodbye.” He musters.She’s only a little more than a hair’s breadth away, and he can see her every eyelash. “Will...see you again.” He doesn’t know if he’s telling this to himself or to her.

Melinda nods rapidly, her eyes filled with so many tears he idly wonders if she can even see.

“I…love you.” He breathes out, and he savors the words like he’d once savored the Haig, although it hadn’t really been the fine drink he’d savored, but rather her touch and her smile and all that made Melinda May someone he’d loved for so long.

(Even though it had been the LMD, it had still been her in a way, and he still looks back fondly on the memory despite how it’s tainted by the fact that the real Melinda had been captured and drugged in a closet during that time, because the Haig, or rather the promise it stood for, had been how it had started).

He thinks he hears her respond, but all sounds are muffled, as though he’s underwater.

He’s only aware of _her_.

_“Hi, I’m Melinda May.” The young cadet he’d heard so much about on campus sticks out her hand to help him up after beating him five seconds into sparring._

_“I was in the bay for five hours!” She’s sopping wet and furious, and he’d been genuinely afraid she’d murder him right there._

_He sneaks a glance over at her and the way the sparkly silver dress hugs her every curve, and he feels himself blush. He hopes she doesn’t notice, although he knows she already has. “I really like that dress,” he says, and he catches her smirk slightly as the elevator closes._

They say the brain functions much faster as it’s dying, and perhaps that’s true, because the thoughts and memories are flying, and he temporarily feels buoyed, comforted by it all. He’s lived a long, full, satisfying life, and although part of him isn’t ready to leave it all behind, a larger part of him acknowledges and appreciates the end, and that he couldn’t have asked for a better story.

He’s everywhere and nowhere at once, at the Academy and Sausalito and Russia and Bahrain and on the Bus and in the Playground and on Maveth and in the Framework and in the submarine and in space in the future, and most of all he’s with her.

_“You mean a lot to me.”_

_“Her name is Melinda May, and she means everything to me.”_

_“And that’s me! I love you. Thought that’d shut you up.”_

_She comes over to stand next to him as they admire the Tahiti beach, and he reaches for her hand immediately. She rests her head on his shoulder, a perfect fit, and something in his heart slots into place, a piece he’d never known he’d been missing._

His last glimpse of Melinda May consists of her head on his shoulder, her eyes fixed upon his, and her hair tangled around them, a stark contrast against her white sundress and chaise. She’s framed by the golden sand and the azure sea, and it’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen.

* * *

Melinda has never truly been alone, not in the thirty or so years since she’d met Phil, save for the brief period of time after his first death.

She’s always been quiet, even before Bahrain, and she’s always appreciated solitude. He’d been an exception, shaking up her life in ways she’d never imagined as she’d stuck out her hand to help up the needy looking Communications cadet after she’d beat his ass at sparring five seconds after starting.

And sure, there are others she loves, Daisy and Fitzsimmons and Mack and Yoyo and even beyond them, Maria and her parents, and if she’s feeling extremely generous, Deke’s not too irritating sometimes.

But they’re not Phil.

She takes in his peaceful expression, his still chest, and the eyes that will never open again, and even despite all of the signs, she only very slightly registers that everything has irrevocably changed for good.

For a long time, people had seen her as cold, and for a long time she’d agreed.

But _he’d_ been warm, and for a long time he’d been all the warmth she’d had.

Despite the tropical air that hugs her gently, Melinda shivers.

Phil has only been gone for a minute, maybe two. And she already knows she’ll spend the rest of her life missing him and telling and re-telling the story of the ordinary man who was extraordinary in every way.

* * *

**five.**

For a moment, she’d thought it had worked.

For a few days, Melinda’s been studying Sarge, analyzing his speech patterns, his expressions, the knit of his eyebrows, replaying his body’s movements and physical instincts as they’d fought. He’s _so_ Phil and _so_ unlike Phil all the same she’s not sure what to think, except that she knows, no she’s _sure,_ that a piece of the man she loves remains within him.

_“Anger. And fear,” he’d said. Fear of this pain that's been a knife in my heart for so long.”_

She’d tried. She’d employed every strategy she could think of, appealing directly to Phil, to his love for her and for their team. He’d always been driven by a deep love for SHIELD, the greater good, and above all his family, and she’d known if she’d tried hard enough to call it forward, she’d bring him out and bring him back.

_“You're right. It's love. The pain is love.”_

And she’d been right. Within Sarge did lie a piece of Phil, as he’d realized that the pain gnawing at him and influencing his actions for centuries had been driven by his love for her.

_“And I know how to end it.”_

She just hadn’t realized how directly the very essence of Phil would clash with the demon inside Sarge.

And it had gotten her killed.

Sarge disappears, and the devil that remains stares blankly at her with dark eyes, his strangely familiar face devoid of any emotion as he shoves the sword into her stomach.

All the breath is knocked out of her in an instant.

It’s been replaced by the agony that burns through her veins, her every cell.

She reflexively brings her hands up to her stomach as she stares up at him, unable to comprehend and unable to fully process what he’s done despite the dripping red liquid seeping from her skin. Her breath comes in short, anguished gasps as he moves the sword around inside her, as he’s moving her closer to the edge of the portal, as she weakly grabs at the sword perhaps in an attempt to pull it out as if that would stop the pain, but she’s completely powerless.

“To cut it out of me. Slice it away and be done with it.” He finishes. His voice, so much like Phil’s just moments before, has been replaced by a guttural otherworldly growl that causes the hair on the back of her neck to stand up.

And then she’s flying through the swirling light of the portal. The ground rises up to swallow her, and she can do nothing to control her fall as she slams sideways into the hard stone, the impact jarring the sword embedded in her stomach, sending shockwaves of fire through her body. She hears a scream of agony echo around the chamber, and realizes only a moment later that it had been her.

She’s shaking uncontrollably both from the cold and from the pain and she’s crying, both from the waves of pain crashing through her, tearing her apart, and the heavy knowledge that is _her_ fault, that she’s here only because of her insistence that Sarge had been redeemable, and because of that, she failed to stop Izel and no one will know until it’s too late.

Her heart’s pounding and she’s shivering and sweating all at once, and the world is a swirling mixture of various shades of grays and the nausea’s rising up in her throat, and blood is rapidly leaving her body, spreading out underneath her. She knows she’s going into shock, she’s gone into shock before, even alone, but never like this, not so far away from her team and any possible chance of help, not in such a dire circumstance.

She’s going to die here in this strange temple.

Last time she’d died, she hadn’t known what had happened to her, as she’d lost consciousness so quickly, but this time, with every shaky, numbered breath that brings forth intense waves of pain that increase with every second, her body replays every moment of being stabbed again and again, lest she forgets her fatal mistake and the moment the demon inside Sarge erased any last remnants of Phil.

She almost wishes death would hurry up.

* * *

Hours, or maybe minutes later, because time doesn’t seem to exist in this strange place, Melinda pulls the sword backwards out of Izel. She’s redeemed herself, and most of all saved her team one last time just when the situation had been the most dire.

“Singing a different song now, aren’t you?” Melinda whispers in Izel’s ear. She feels a brief hint of satisfaction at the ancient being’s gasp of surprise. Izel crumbles to ash, and it’s as if she’d never existed.

Melinda’s arm shakes with the weight of the sword, and she’s suddenly reminded that crossing back through the portal means her injuries matter again. The pain returns at ten times the intensity as before, and as if someone’s jabbed the sword through her again. Out of the edge of her eye she spots Mack. She channels the last of her strength and throws the sword towards Mack in hopes he’ll catch it, and with that last move, her energy’s drained, and her body refuses to hold itself up any longer, and she falls sideways.

She vaguely hears grunts and screams echoing around her, and she can’t see save for a blur of colors; she’s unaware of anything except that her part’s over, and she can only trust that her team will pick up from where she’s left off and finish the mission. This would have to be enough.

Blood trickles out of her mouth and down the side of her face. A deep exhaustion overtakes her, and breathing hurts. She’s shaking again, this time worse than before, and sweat pours down her face. She can barely feel it. In fact, the pain seems to be fading, or maybe she just can’t feel her body anymore, and everything’s muffled, as though she’s slowly sinking underwater, and heavy waves wash over her with every second, and she can’t fight it anymore, doesn’t want to struggle against it any longer.

She doesn’t have long.

_“Will...see you again.”_ Phil had promised in his final few moments.

She hadn’t realized just how soon that’d be.

They’d discussed rebuilding SHIELD Academy, only she’d secretly promised to call it Coulson Academy. They’d talked at length about their plans for lesson plans, and interesting course topics, and field activities.

_“It’s the perfect timing,” Phil had gushed. They’d lain together in bed after a particularly spectacular round of parasailing, back in their first few days in Tahiti when that hadn’t been out of the question. “Mack’s got a good handle on things, I’m sure, and that’ll free you up to rebuild the Academy. You’ll have a hand in shaping the next generation of SHIELD agents! All of all that history needs to be passed down, and you get to do it!”_

_“Sounds like someone’s jealous.”_

_“A little.” He responded wistfully. His fingers started running through her hair, a wonderful feeling that had her snuggling closer to him. Melinda curled her arm tighter around his torso, although careful to avoid the scars on his chest. “I always thought I’d eventually retire and teach SHIELD history or something. Inspire new recruits with stories of the Avengers or the Howling Commandos…”_

_“Nerd.”_

_“But this is the next best thing.” He insisted. “Professor May, whipping them all into shape.”_

And despite herself, the idea had excited her. She’d even started on the planning stages, only to be derailed by Sarge’s arrival.

She supposes it’s too late now.

She hopes that when she sees him again, he’s not too disappointed.

She’d long accepted that she’d die for SHIELD one day, and she’s happy to, as long as she’s done _some_ good.

She just hopes she’s done enough.

Some time later, or maybe it’s seconds, because time has become meaningless, she hears a faint sound approaching, and a blurry face swims above hers. Something touches her head, and she feels something soft, a welcome contrast from the hard ground.

Amidst the swirling browns of the cavern, she sees a hint of purple.

Daisy.

She merely holds Melinda close, cradling her head on her leg, tenderly wiping away the blood that won’t stop trickling from her mouth, but she doesn’t scream for help, doesn’t try and convince Melinda that hope’s not lost, because they know she’s beyond help.

In the back of her mind, Melinda knows the answer already; it’s so painfully obvious, and not just because of the awful hole in her stomach. But she asks anyway. “Was…there anything left? Coulson?”

Daisy shakes her head.

“I was hoping…” She pants between each word, her collapsing lungs struggling to take in the air they so desperately need as they fight weakly against the blood filling them, and she knows she’s wasting her last remaining breaths, but she’s always been a glutton for punishment. “To see him again.”

Daisy is shivering, whether from adrenaline from the fight or from grief, and her eyes are red, but she smiles wistfully anyway at the thought. “Me too.”

“I guess…I’ll see…him…soon enough.”

Losing both her and Phil within such a short period of time will _not_ be easy for Daisy, no matter how much the young Inhuman is trying to suppress her tears. Daisy’s trying to be brave in Melinda’s final moments, and she strokes her hair in a comforting manner, setting aside her own grief; it’s so much like what Melinda herself would’ve and _had_ done that it makes her resist the tempting lull of surrendering and sinking beneath the waves if only to give herself one last moment with the young woman she’s always thought of her as daughter.

She stares up at Daisy, trying to convey everything she’s thinking and feeling, and _has_ been thinking and feeling for years now. Words have never been her strong suit, but as Daisy grips her hand, she swears she understands.

_I’m sorry._

_You won’t be alone, not with Mack and YoYo and Fitz and Simmons and even Deke._

_Take care of everyone._

_Don’t run away again._

_I’m proud of you._

_I love you._

And Melinda swears she sees Daisy nod.

A sense of peace washes over her, more serene and comforting than the heavy underwater pull from before, and she gives in.

* * *

He can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Melinda May so _still._

(Although are they really _his_ memories?)

He’s standing by the healing pod. There’s a small stool next to it, but he ignores it. Does his body even tire any more?

She’s sedated, her chest rising and falling at even intervals. She’s pale, almost unnaturally so, causing the dark circles under her eyes to stand out starkly.

And yet despite the fact that she’s still technically half dead, she’s as beautiful as he remembers, and he can’t help but reach out and touch the glass as though he can draw her closer.

(But is the effect she has on him just a part of his programming?)

There are so many other things he should be doing—helping to prepare for their recon mission, research on the era, or finding a 1920’s outfit in the vast closet Jemma and Encoh had sent up. And yet he can’t seem to tear himself away from her side.

The images had come to him in a sudden rush.

Ghost Rider and the Lighthouse and the Kree and the monoliths and the Destroyer of Worlds and a wedding and Fitz’s death and Tahiti and Izel and Sarge and the Shrike and more and more and more, all one after another in a blur he could barely comprehend. But in the midst of everything, only one had stuck out amongst the rest until it had been all he could see.

_She’s facing his evil doppelgänger, the jerk with his face, and she’s imploring him to listen to her, to resist the demon inside him, and he can only watch in horror as his body double neatly slides the sword into her, and her face crumbles from the shock and betrayal._

“May, don’t! May!” He’d unconsciously cries.

“That…that was not your fault,” Daisy had said, but he could barely hear, not when all the memories had flooded in in at once.

(Can he call them memories? They’re not his memories, not exactly, not when it’s more like data.)

May, hurt and alone, heroically killing Izel.

May, bleeding out in Daisy’s arms.

May, her eyes closing for the last time as she’d succumbed to her injuries.

Shortly after, he’d seen the other him, the _real_ him, hand in hand on a beach with _her_. “It really is magical…” And he’d been more jealous of himself than ever before.

And so he finds himself here by the healing pod, taking in her every feature and counting her every breath. Someone, Jemma or Enoch likely, had wiped away the blood, and replaced her torn clothing with a pair of clean hospital scrubs; her face is impassive as she sleeps, revealing none of the pain she’d suffered.

His heart hurts (does he still have one?) at the thought.

He hears footsteps behind him, and he turns around to see Jemma approaching. The scientist looks older than he remembers, in fact they all do, but she seems particularly different, more mature and sure of herself and worldly. Then again, he supposes the last several years could not have been easy for anyone.

“She’ll be fine.” Jemma smiles reassuringly as she taps on the monitor fixed to the healing pod. “Enoch can easily repair all major tissue and organ damage, and with a few days of bed rest, she’ll be good as new.”

“How could this have happened?”

Jemma sighs as she turns to face him, and he can see that beyond her cool and crisp demeanor, Melinda’s death had affected her just as much as it had the others. “Sarge, or the _thing_ inside him, played us in a way he knew would hurt. There was no predicting what had happened, especially not since he’d revealed certain…Coulson like characteristics.” Her mouth twists awkwardly. “Not that any of this was caused by you in any way. You know what I mean.”

He nods. His uploaded memories tell him that May and Daisy had seen a bit of him in Sarge, and they’d tried to bring it back out. He’d spent so much time trying to get them to let down their guards, to embrace love…how could anyone fault them for trying to bring back a piece of someone they’d loved?

“And unfortunately, May paid the price.” He murmurs. His mind replays the image of Sarge stabbing her again and again, and he wishes he could erase it like the rest of the data inside. “Could we have prevented this?”

Jemma frowns. “I’m afraid not. Most of us had been at the Lighthouse when this happened, and Mack and Yoyo were trapped with Izel.”

“Right, but…” he gestures around them. “We just jumped through time and space! Surely you and Fitz could’ve put together a way to, I don’t know, _beam_ yourselves into the temple. Or me! If you had brought me in, I could’ve fought off Sarge instead!”

“It’s not that simple. We’re already messing with time by being here. Interfering with past events could have catastrophic consequences that none of us could predict. Perhaps it would’ve ensured Izel’s victory, or caused another’s death. And can you imagine how May and everyone else would have reacted upon seeing another you? Especially with Sarge right there?”

Deep down, he knows Jemma’s right. But as he looks down at Melinda again, a familiar yet strange feeling washes over him again. “I just don’t like being so…helpless.”

Right, fear. It’s called fear.

“She’s been through so much,” he continues. “She doesn’t deserve this.”

“But she will pull through,” Jemma reminds him gently. “As she always does.”

He nods stiffly. Her words, although they ring true and are obviously intended to be comforting, have little effect on him. “I think I’m going to stay here a while. Let me know when we’re ready to head out.”

“Of course, sir.” She turns as though she’s leave, but then pauses. “Here.” She taps at something on the monitor, and a small circle opens in the glass of the healing pod, right next to her hand. “They always say human contact’s the best aid for recovery.”

So Phil sits down on the stool and takes her hand. It’s still slightly cold, both from the surgery and blood loss. He runs his thumb over the back of her hand in small circles, trying to transfer the warmth of his artificial skin to hers as best he can.

“It’s a good thing you’re asleep.” He murmurs. “I know how much you hate hospitals. Remember that time at the Academy? You’d been shot in the leg, yet you walked right out of the clinic. Scared the crap out of our instructors. Or after that concussion? You made it to our final exams and still beat half the class? That’s when I knew never to piss you off.”

“I’m sorry that this happened to you.” Phil continues. “I know you’re used to it by now, but it doesn’t make it any easier to see you hurt. And by someone who looked like me. I’m not sure how happy you’ll be to see me when you wake up. But whatever you say, however you feel, I’ll be here for you. I will never let anything happen to you again, Melinda. I swear. You mean everything to me.”

Everything’s weird. His arm feels off and his clothes feel scratchy against his skin (does he even have _skin?_ ), and he can’t figure out if he actually needs to breathe or not. But sitting here, her hand in his, even with her unconscious, just for a moment he feels a bit more like himself.

There has never been a universe in which Phil Coulson isn’t drawn to Melinda May.

No matter how she feels about him when she wakes up, even if she recoils and keeps him at arms length after what’s happened to her, he promises he’ll be there for her in any way she needs.

* * *

**six.**

Forty or so years later, they finally make it to Australia.

Melinda officially retires from Coulson Academy after Phil, Daisy, Mack, and Yoyo pretty much stage an intervention and insist that she needs to slow down and take some time for herself, that she’s given all she can as an agent, professor, mentor, and so much more, and that it’s time for her to enjoy her life, and that retiring at 80 really isn’t too early despite her resistance.

That had earned all of them a pretty nasty glare and him a few nights on the couch.

In the end, she agrees, and she and Phil loads Lola with a few belongings, sell their apartment, and set off to see the world.

They haven’t looked back ever since.

Retirement’s a funny thing. Some days, Melinda misses SHIELD so badly she contemplates stealing a plane and flying herself back. But then on other days, she looks around their remote cabin, takes in the silence, and breathes in the scent of her favorite tea, one that she enjoys after the tai chi she has time to do every morning, uninterrupted, and she can’t imagine being anywhere else.

She can’t believe she’d almost turned him down on the day he’d showed up uninvited in her lecture hall right after their first, but certainly not last, team reunion. Although they’d promised to take a step back and start again after finally beating the Chronicoms, part of her had almost doubted him.

He finally had a chance to see the world, read _Ulysses_ in an Irish pub somewhere, and enjoy the rest of his now _very_ long life. Yet she knew he’d drop everything, all of his wishes and desires, in a heartbeat to be with her. Who was she to stand in his way?

She hadn’t realized that _she_ had been everything he’d desired.

_“You’re going to…longer than me, now. I don’t want you to….there’s a lot you’ve wanted to see, places to go,” she’d admitted all those decades ago_. _“I won’t be around forever. The last thing you need to waste your time on…”_

_He’d laughed, lifting her chin and forcing her gaze up to meet his. “As a wise, beautiful, sexy, wonderful, woman once said, who I waste my time on is for me to decide. But I’ll have you know, it won’t be a waste of time. It never will be, not with you.”_

They haven’t spent a day apart ever since.

Phil had moved straight into her apartment and worked in the Academy’s history department. Of course she’d occasionally brought him in as a guest lecturer, especially on days when she had to demonstrate how to trust one’s field partner. Her cadets had been pretty surprised, but overall pleased, to be learning from _the_ Phil Coulson, even if it had been the LMD version.

He cooks for her and helps decorate her place with his various collectibles and knick knacks so that it’s not as spartan as it had been before he moves in, and her once sterile apartment becomes a home, _their_ home. In return she begrudgingly allows him to adopt a dog. Truth be told, she never could have said no to him. He names their golden retriever Peggy and she only rolls her eyes once.

He proposes a few months in. She wakes up one morning to find a ring on her finger, and he tries his best and fails to act surprised. She says yes immediately. After a morning spent together in bed, Daisy calls, wanting to know if he’s done it yet, and _of course_ Phil had told her beforehand. Daisy and Jemma excitedly plan their wedding with more gusto than even Melinda herself.

They are married on the beach in Maui six months later. Daisy’s her maid of honor, with Elena and Jemma her bridesmaids. Mack is Phil’s best man, and Alya runs around on the beach as their flower girl. Phil’s jaw drops at the sight of Melinda in a simple flowered sundress, a single daisy in her hair, and his eyes shimmer with unshed tears.

They recite their vows, both promising to stay by the other’s side forever, because they have been separated far too many times. References are made to their numerous deaths, and everyone laughs.

It’s simple and absolutely perfect and everything she’s ever wanted.

After Melinda retires, they explore the world together for ten years. The Brazilian rainforest, the African safari, the pyramids of Egypt, and of course plenty of Irish pubs? They see it all, hand in hand.

But time passes. She continues to age while he stays the same, although he insists everyday that physically she hasn’t aged, and that she’s as stunning as the day he’d met her.

(For her 85th birthday, they fly to see Fitzsimmons and Alya. Phil and Fitz disappear for a long afternoon while Melinda has tea with Alya and Jemma. When Phil reappears, he bears wrinkles and a large bald spot atop his head, and his hair’s gone gray; although he’s seemingly aged about forty years in an afternoon, he’s as charming and goofy and as handsome as ever.

And she doesn’t immediately tear up at the sight and the gesture, of course not.)

Around 90, Melinda’s worst fears start to come true. She’s seen it happen to her parents, and she knows that her body has taken too many beatings in her lifetime, and that it’s inevitable. But it still doesn’t make the experience pleasant.

She starts to slow down. The pain from her leg that has never quite recovered from the rebar in the Lighthouse returns with a vengeance, especially when it rains. Her memory starts to fade, and she’s no longer able to keep up with him. He insists it’s fine, that he’s wanted to settle down with her anyway.

She grows distant, pulls away. She picks a fight with him because even after decades, part of her still can’t believe he’s chosen to watch her grow old while knowing he’ll never be able to do the same. She wants him to stay, of course; the idea of him leaving her will break her in half, and she can’t bear the thought of losing him. But she loves him too much, so she begs him to leave, insists that their time has come to an end, that he can’t allow her to stand in his way of living the rest of his life, because she can’t bear the thought of him watching her die.

Although she will never take back her time with Phil in Tahiti, she still doesn’t want to subject him to what she’d experienced.

He refuses and reminds her of the promise they made to each other that day on the beach. He’s right, of course. He’s loved her for most of his life and he will stand by her like she’d stood by him in Tahiti. Still, she argues back because it’s in her nature, and she cries and he cries.

Eventually, they reconcile, and she swears she’ll never push him away again.

They decide to settle in the remote Australian cabin she’d reserved for him all those years ago, back when they’d both thought he’d go mad from the carving like Garrett had.

Melinda does tai chi most mornings, although she no longer wakes up before the sun. Phil makes coffee for himself and tea for her, and she always insists that he brush his teeth before kissing her. He listens about half the time. She loves the solitude and the greenery around her, and most days they sit on the porch or read or watch movies or just enjoy their time together. He starts reading aloud to her when even her reading glasses are no longer as effective as they once had been.

And sure, sometimes one of them still wakes up from nightmares about the past. Other times, they’re plagued with regrets and doubts and fears. The other is always there to provide comfort and reassurances and reminders that they’ve left all that behind, that they have all they need here.

Retirement’s not perfect, but they’re together, and it’s everything they’ve always wanted.

* * *

Death comes for Melinda May on a Wednesday.

It’s a beautiful sunny day, and they’re curled up together in the hammock on the porch. He’d had to lift her into it, but the extra effort had been worth it.

She’s tangled all around him, and his arm lies over her torso, hugging her as close to him as possible.

They aren’t really talking, instead content to listen to the birds chirping around them.

“I’m so glad I said yes.” She says suddenly.

He stares down at her in confusion, certain he’s misheard. “What?”

“That day in the Academy. When our instructors paired us up together to practice sparring. I almost said no when they pointed to you.”

He’s never heard this story before, and he’s intrigued. All he remembers is that she’d beat his ass in about five seconds.

“Thought you’d hold me back. Too nerdy. Not a good chance for me to practice. But I thought, why not? Never underestimate someone. Not a tiny Asian woman, and certainly not a nerdy Communications cadet.”

“And here we are. I’m glad you didn’t turn me down.”

“Me too.” She smiles up at him. “Best decision of my life.”

“Haven’t gotten sick of me yet?” He jokes.

Melinda fixes him with a glare, although it lacks the intensity it used to _._ When he’d first met her, he’d been genuinely terrified. He’d fumble something simple on a mission, or spill a cup of coffee next to her, or he’d do basically anything that displeased her and she’d just glare silently at him, causing him to trip over himself to try and avoid being the focus of her anger. He’d been convinced she’d murder him in his sleep at some point; he’d known she’d even get away with it, because she’d been _that_ good.

It had taken him a few months to realize that each individual glare, while identical at first glance, had its own meaning. Like now, for instance. He knows her well enough to know she’s not mad, but merely annoyed.

He brushes a finger along the side of her cheek, and his expression is so soft she has to turn her face slightly to the side so he won’t see her blush. “Somehow forty extra years still doesn’t seem enough.” He says quietly. “Not with you.”

For a moment, she’s back in Tahiti, she’s wearing a white flowered dress, and their roles are reversed.

Long ago, she’d lamented the fact that she and Phil would always be running out of time.

Long ago, she’d buried the love of her life about a hundred feet away from the picturesque Tahiti beach.

Long ago, she’d gone back to SHIELD feeling as though she’d permanently left half of herself behind.

And long ago, on that day in the Lighthouse when her world had ended, as she’d sat on that bench next to him, she’d promised herself to stop wasting time. She will never stop being grateful that she did so.

It would’ve been easier to reject Phil after what had happened with Sarge. No one would have blamed her either, least of all Phil, who had always only wanted her to be happy.

But where would she be right now if she’d made a different choice?

She’d nearly done it, walked away after everything. But then she wouldn’t have had the last four decades, with their date nights in Lola, family dinners where they’d embarrassed the hell out of Daisy with their constant PDA, working together at the Academy,or the chance to finally see the world together, arguably the best years of her life.

She’d truly never thought she’d end up here with Phil, albeit a different Phil but _Phil_ all the same, and even though the thought of leaving him (again) hurts, she knows she couldn’t have asked for anymore, that she’s satisfied with the way their story has unfolded, bumps and all. “We’ve always known this is the way it’s supposed to be. I’m just grateful for what we had.”

What more could she have asked for? How many people are granted the second, third, and fourth chances that they’ve had?

“Once we both stopped dying so we could actually stop and enjoy it.”

Melinda reaches out and grabs his hand, folding it over hers. “I-I know I’ve never really said this, but for a long time, I thought I didn’t need or deserve anyone. But you, you’ve always been there. Even when I pushed you away. You didn’t give up on me. You pulled me out of that cubicle, you gave me purpose, a crew. A _family._ Something I thought I’d never have again. And I know I’m not the best with words, so I want to show you something.”

She closes her eyes and reaches deep inside herself, feeling for the small golden glow. Her empath abilities, so strong to the point of overwhelm at first, had slowly started to fade over the years until they had become mostly nonexistent so that sensing another’s feelings stopped happening involuntarily, and instead required extreme concentration.

She hasn’t done this since that day with the Chronicoms. She hasn’t needed to. Phil has always been able to read her better than she ever could, and she expresses her feelings through actions instead.

But that doesn’t mean she can’t give this a try.

Melinda focuses her mind on a single point. _Phil._

_She’s sizing up her sparring partner, mentally rolling her eyes at the scrawny cadet standing across from her. He smiles dorkily at her, and despite her annoyance, her heart flips, and she has to fight to keep her lips from quirking up._

_He’s cradling her head against his chest. “Let the girl go, Melinda. Let the girl go.”_

_He’s started stopping by her apartment at least once a week with food and DVDs and anything he thinks will make her smile. She’s barely consumed anything besides whiskey since she’d left the home she’d once shared with Andrew, and she barely talks to anyone anymore. She knows she deserves to rot in this deep, dark pit of misery and self-loathing she now lives in, but with him, she finds herself forgetting, if only for a moment._

_“So this must be where they make the red tape,” Phil jokes. She allows herself a tiny smile. She pretends to protest even though he promises she’ll just be flying the Bus, although deep down, she knows she’d do anything for him._

_“You mean a lot to me.” She insists as he wraps the bandage around her arm more aggressively than he needs to. She knows he’s mad, and he has every right, and she just hopes that he understands why she’d made the choice to keep Tahiti a secret._

_He’s walking slowly back, covered with grime and dust from the alien planet, and he looks worn in a way she hasn’t seen before. His eyes land on hers, and she swears they light up despite his grim expression. She smiles softly at him, and he wraps an arm around her neck, holding her close._

Melinda thinks she hears him inhale sharply, but she maintains her concentration with the skill she’s developed after years of Tai Chi and yoga.

_The schoolteacher rushes in front of her, blocking the gun Mack had aimed at her. She barely knows this man, this strange glasses wearing nerd, and yet she’d let out a breath she hadn’t even known she’d been holding._

_She gasps and looks around, startled, completely disoriented for a moment as she takes in her surroundings. She’s on a sub, standing on some kind of platform, covered with wires, and Phil is smiling with barely disguised relief up at her. Moments later, her muscles crumble from disuse, and her head is spinning violently, and without hesitation he scoops her up into his arms and gently lowers her to the floor. Despite their bleak surroundings, her heart is full, because they’re together, and there’s nothing they can’t get through when they have each other._

_“And that’s me!” She snaps. The words come out before she realizes what she’d said, but doesn’t regret it. Not with the time they have left. “I love you!”_

Melinda breathes slowly, allowing the flood of memories to overtake her, allowing the glow inside to grow stronger so that all she sees is him and their life together. Shes aware that her body’s trembling slightly, but she continues, concentrating on the love and partnership and strength she’d always felt from and with him.

_He’s activating his shield, pulling her close, protecting her against the bullets, and seconds later they crash together. She loses all sense of their surroundings, bullets and aliens and all, as she feels only him, the man she’s loved for most of her life, and he’s holding her tightly against him, as though he can’t get her close enough. Something slots into place in her heart, a piece making its way home, where it belonged._

_He’s reciting his vows, a perfect blend of humorous and sentimental, and she’s smiling so wide her face hurts. Everything they’ve gone through, both their deaths, Hydra, the Framework, the Kree, it’s all been worth it, because it’s led up to this. She doesn’t think she’ll ever be any happier than she is now._

She slowly opens her eyes. He’s gazing at her with so much tenderness and warmth she knows he’d be crying if he were able, because he’s always been the sentimental type.

“This is…” He’s choked up, and it takes a few moments for him to get the words out. “This…this is how you feel?”

“How I’ve always felt.” She clarifies. “I knew I’d never be able to say it, so thought I’d show you instead.”

“I didn’t realize you could still…”

“Me neither.” The effort of physically projecting her feelings onto another has left her fatigued, but seeing his dopey, lovestruck expression, she knows it’s worth it. He’s always looked at her as though she’d hung the moon, and this is no exception. “I love you.”

Phil kisses her, and he tastes like coffee, and she doesn’t even mind. He buries a hand in her hair, the other hand slowly making its way under her shirt. She’s frustrated to find herself out of breath much faster than she used to be, but he doesn’t let that stop him, instead tracing her neck, then her collarbone with his lips, finally making his way to the spot behind her ear that she’s always loved.

“I love you too,” he says as he pulls away, settling her back against his chest.

They lie quietly together, the hammock swinging in the gentle breeze. She knows she’s overdone it, and that her empath abilities have drained the little remaining energy she has. She can feel her body growing heavier, her vision slowly blurring.

She hasn’t felt like this since she’d bled out in Daisy’s arms back in the temple.

Melinda doesn’t know how he knows, but he senses it.

“Go to sleep, Mel.” He whispers. “I’ve got you.”

She blinks rapidly, her eyelids growing heavier. Her body, her aching muscles, her stiff joints—she can barely feel them anymore. Even the feeling of his skin against hers feels more akin to a feather upon the surface of a lake, light and mostly negligible. She’s ready, but for a moment she doesn’t want to give in, not when she’s forced to leave him behind, not like this.

“Don’t worry about me.” He insists.

“Just make sure…you do what makes you…”

“Don’t worry,” he repeats. He brushes her hair back, and presses a kiss against her forehead. “I promise.”

She wants to respond. Even after decades there’s simultaneously so much left unsaid and so much that has never needed saying. But she doesn’t have the energy to speak anymore. Instead, with the little she has left, she finds his mind with hers and feels the glow spread throughout her again.

“Me too.” He says immediately. “I love you too. Always have, and always will.”

Phil’s cradling her body against his, and she can just barely feel his arms tightening around her, and his eyes, the beautiful blue eyes she loves so much, are fixed upon hers. His loose shirt blows lightly in the breeze, he’s gazing at her with so much affection it warms her from the inside out, and she swears she’s never been more at peace.

* * *

She could be sleeping, he muses. She’s always been a quiet sleeper (except when she’d snored), and for a moment he pretends she’s just drifted off, as she’s been prone to do more and more lately. Maybe after she wakes, he’ll make her a cup of tea, and read aloud to her for a while.

He’d once told Fitz that without her, it had been as though he’d lost his right hand. They’d both known she’d been more than that.

_“I’m lost without him,_ ” he knows she’d once told Robin. But what had been left unsaid was that Phil would be lost without Melinda.

Carefully, without jostling her still cradled in his arms, he reaches into his pocket and takes out the object he’d started to carry around for the last week.

“Just make sure…you do what makes you…” She’d said just moments before. She hadn’t finished her sentence.

_Happy_ , he’d known she’d meant to say. _Just make sure you do what makes you happy._

They’d discussed a few times what they’d both known had been coming. Melinda had wanted him to move on without her, to continue living his life on his terms after she had gone.

She hadn’t realized that he’d _already_ lived his life, with her.

Phil fingers the round button. When Mack had first given this to him, he’d had zero intention of using it to deactivate himself, not when there had been so much he’d wanted to do and see, and certainly not before he’d had a chance with her.

And that’s what they’d had together, a beautiful, rich, full, complete life that had made him happier than he could’ve ever imagined.

Like he knows his other self had been in Tahiti, he’s not ready to leave. But as Melinda had said, this is the way it was supposed to be. They’d had everything they’d ever wanted, and then some.

Most of all, he’d had his chance to grow old with the love of his life, to experience _everything_ , from the Great Wall of China to the Amazon rainforest, to the joys of seeing Daisy settle into her life with Sousa and her career as an interplanetary SHIELD agent, or watching their granddaughter grow up. What more did he need?

He takes out his phone and navigates to his email. Without hesitation, he hits Send on the message he’d drafted one night about a week ago, after Melinda had fallen asleep.

Daisy will receive the email in a few moments so she can start the proper arrangements. He’d briefly discussed his plan with her, and although she’d tried to talk him out of it at first, ultimately she’d understood the reasoning behind his decision, and had given him her support.

Phil settles back against the hammock and gazes briefly upwards. He breathes in the crisp air deeply, smiles up at the sight of the sun between the trees, and then turns his head to face hers.With the scent of her still lingering in his nose and the weight of her body against his, he presses the button.

* * *

**epilogue.**

She hadn’t known what to expect. A blinding white light and pearly gates, maybe?

Turns out the afterlife consists of a quiet cabin in the middle of nowhere, with plenty of whiskey and tea, room for Tai Chi, reading material, and most of all, Phil. She’s snuggled up under a thick blanket on a cushy couch, her legs in his lap. As if on cue, he looks up from his book and turns to her from the other end of the couch. He lifts her hand and presses a kiss against it.

Moments after she’d found herself here, she’d run into Phil, only it hadn’t been merely the Phil she’d left behind in Tahiti, but simultaneously also the Phil she’d spent the last few decades with, because it turns out he’d deactivated himself right after she’d passed so that the two Phils had merged together into one, because, as he’d said so many times…

_“All the time in the world means nothing without you,”_

Throughout their partnership, friendship, marriage, and everything in between, Phil had been a sappy romantic countless times. Home cooked meals, her favorite teas, cute souvenirs from around the world, massages, lame flirtatious jokes, and more. But _this_ outranked them all.

She sets her own book aside and takes in the glasses perched at the end of his nose, his muscled arms, and his Captain America t-shirt. 

“Stop distracting me.” He says without looking up. “I’m trying to read.”

She raises a suggestive eyebrow. “And I’m bored.”

Without hesitation, Phil closes his book. To her bemusement, he’s still trying to finish _Ulysses_ , although she figures if he hasn’t done it by now, he never will. “Well, I can think of a way to fix that.”

As he pins her to the couch, settling above her, kissing her hard, running his lips over her neck, and she’s pulling on the short hairs on his neck, and frantically unbuttoning his shirt.

Maybe tomorrow she’d finally learn to cook, or practice her golf swing. Either that, or they’d explore the woods behind their house, or just parasail again.

No matter what they choose, they have all the time in the world together, forevermore.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to [the17stairs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the17stairs/pseuds/the17stairs) for helping me brainstorm!


End file.
